Second Chances

by H. M. Ward

  “This was a great idea Peter! The band is amazing!” She pushes her wall of curls back and asks, “Did you order the drinks? I’m so thirsty I could die.”

  Peter nods and hands her a glass. She turns and bounces away into the crowd, dancing as she goes. He glances at me with sympathy, maybe even empathy—like he’s been there.

  Staring at the bar, I utter, “Don’t feel sorry for me.” I don’t know where the words come from, but I don’t want his pity.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” The sincerity in his voice rings true. “It’s just that, well, I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one. We’ve been through Hell and back. Am I right?” I look into his dark blue eyes, too afraid to answer.

  He drops his gaze to his drink and then tips his head to the side, slipping his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re a survivor. Don’t give up.” He smiles crookedly before walking away, and disappearing into the crowd.

  I stop paying attention, which is obviously a bad idea because only a few seconds later, Daniel is finally standing in front of me. "What the hell are you doing, Genevieve?" His voice is low, almost gravelly.

  "What do you mean?" I ask, giving him what I hope is an innocent look, but that probably looks more like I'm having some weird kind of seizure.

  He glares at me, his hands folded over his chest and looking very unwelcoming. "Do you really want me to tell you all about how I saw you dumping your drinks and what I watched you dump them into?"

  "No" I stutter, mortified. Why did I think dumping the drinks would be a good idea? Oh yeah, I thought that if he thought I was on a mission to get drunk he might come over and talk to me. Remembering suddenly that talking was the whole reason I came here tonight, I draw myself up so that my spine is straight and look him in the eyes.

  "Daniel, can we please talk? I have so much I need to say to you." I know the look on my face now is pleading for him to give me a chance, but I've had just enough alcohol to not care how desperate I look. I need him to know how much I regret the way I acted that night. Or, I guess more accurately, the way I didn't react. I was wrong and I need to tell him.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel says nothing at first. Finally, he heaves a heavy sigh and meets my gaze once more. "Gen," he begins, and I know by the tone of his voice exactly what he's getting ready to say. It doesn't stop the pain that rips through my chest when he finally says it though. "I think you should go. I don't think we have anything left to say to each other."

  Realizing he's never going to forgive me for not having faith in him, I accept defeat, gather my things, and head for the door. I walk as fast as my unsteady legs can carry me. I will not cry. The last thing I want now is for him to know how much refusing to even let me explain hurts. It wasn't easy for me to come here tonight, not that he seems to care. When I finally make it through the crowd of people and out into the cooler air, I lean against the wall, tipping my head back and trying to compose myself.

  Chapter 19

  Completely dejected over the fact that Daniel still won't let me explain, I slowly walk back to the parking lot. After tripping over every single crack in the sidewalk, I'm regretting wearing these shoes with every step. Honestly, if I weren’t worried about stepping on glass, I'd just take them off and walk barefoot.

  The walk back to my car gives me time to pound the pavement and work out my anger issues. How long has it been since I made an attempt to reach out to a guy? I risked my heart and got slammed down. I knew it was a possibility, but Daniel was worth the risk. If I hadn’t done this I would have spent the rest of my life wondering if there was anything else I could have done to patch things up with him. Now I know. It’s over. He won’t forgive me, and the more I think about it, the more I know my mother was wrong. I’m a dumb ass. Daniel always paid for everything. He wasn’t a leech, mooching off of me at all. He’s not a gold-digger, and when he needed me to have a little faith in him, I had none.

  The truth is, I suck. I’m not good at this, or at life. Too many people I love have ended up in the ground too quickly and I’m mad. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, and then when I find someone, I screw that up too. I’m not going to be a victim anymore. This is never happening again.

  When I reach into my sodden bag for what I'm sure will be dripping car keys, I find that they're no longer in my purse. Shit. I'm trying to remember where I last saw my keys, but the only thing I remember is dropping them on the ground when I got out of the car. Dammit. I don't think I even picked them up. I was in too much of a hurry to get inside and see Daniel.

  As I walk up to where I parked my car, I see someone getting into it. Seriously? I stand there, jaw dropped, and stare. I’ve had it. Something inside of me snaps and I race over to the driver's side, jerk the door open, and see a kid who can't even be old enough to drink. He’s staring up at me in shock. Before he can react, I scream, “Get out of my car!” Grabbing him by the arm, I start trying to drag him out while beating the shit out of him with my purse. I’m like a ninja when I’m pissed. Bag to face, finger to eye, knee to nuts, plus lots of screaming. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore, but the kid is laying half in and half out of my car.

  I continue to girlie-slap him until he's had enough. Jerking out of my grasp, he shoves me away from him with both hands, causing me to stumble back and fall. He rights himself in the seat. I land hard on my bottom, putting my hands out behind me to break my fall and scraping my palms against the rough asphalt. The pain doesn't really register, because the kid gets out of the car to stand over me menacingly. I realize now that attempting to beat the shit out of a car thief who outweighs me by at least forty pounds wasn't such a stellar plan.

  Looking up at the guy, I tremble as his lip curls into a snarl. My heart is racing and I'm sitting on the ground, scared and unable to move. His hand darts out, grabbing my arm and yanking me up so that I'm standing in front of him. The hateful look on his face has me shaking and I squeeze my eyes shut in terror, screaming in his face. I don't want to see whatever’s coming next.

  When his hand suddenly vanishes and I hear a grunt of pain, my eyes fly open. Daniel is holding the guy by the throat and looks pissed. They're staring at each other, both of them livid. The car thief is gripping both of Daniel's wrists, trying to remove them from his throat.

  Daniel leans in close to him and snarls, "Don't you fucking touch her." The car thief's eyes widen a second before Daniel's fist clocks him in the side of the head, snapping it to the side. Releasing him, Daniel steps back, waiting to see what the kid is going to do. The thief turns back to him, his eyes wild and unfocused. Daniel doesn't back down, instead he glares back at him, ready for a fight.

  When the thief lunges, Daniel punches him in the face. Something cracks, someone yelps, but it’s mostly swinging arms and a lot of swearing. That is, until Daniel knocks the thief down. I think it’s over, but the other guy doesn’t stop. He trips Daniel and now they're rolling around on the ground beating the shit out of each other. I’m scared to death that the thief has a gun. I don’t want anyone to get shot. I look around for something to club him with, but the only thing I can find is a wire hanger. I hover, not knowing what to do, hanger in one hand, purse in the other.

  Finally, Daniel's fist hits him hard one last time. They’re on their knees when blood goes flying from the thief’s mouth as his face collides with the pavement. He skids to a stop and doesn’t move. Daniel stands and stares down at the guy for a second, his eyes still burning with anger. When the thief doesn’t move, he turns to look at me.

  Daniel walks over and takes hold of my arms, studying me. "Are you okay?" Unable to speak, I nod once, staring up at him in awe. He starts checking me over for injuries, brushing the loose gravel off my hands and seeing my blood. "The fucker hurt you."

  “It’s just my hands. Don’t!” I tug Dan’s arm when he looks like he’s ready to go back and bury the guy. “Please, don’t. I’m okay.”

  “Are you hurt anywhere else? God, Gen, I went out back
to breakdown some boxes and I hear you screaming at the top of your lungs. I couldn’t run fast enough. I thought I was too late.” His brow is covered in sweat and grime. His once white shirt is torn and his elbow is bleeding.

  I shake my head before finally remembering how to speak. "I’m okay, really. My butt is a little sore from falling, but other than that I'm okay." I look up at him, wanting to say so many things, but I know he doesn’t want to hear it, so I press my lips together.

  "Good," Daniel nods, satisfied with my answer. "I'm sorry about your dress." Looking down, I see that my brand new dress, the one I was sure Daniel would notice me in, has a big rip up the hip. It goes almost to the bottom of my panties.

  "It's not your fault," I tell him, my voice trembling. The adrenaline boost from the night is wearing off and I know I'm going to break down soon. I feel it coming. "Um, thanks for the rescue. I guess I should get home."

  Daniel stares at me in disbelief. "Go home? Genevieve, you need to call the police. That guy was trying to steal your car, and if I hadn't walked up when I did, who knows what else he would have done to you."

  "I just want to go home and forget tonight ever happened." Between the terror and Daniel refusing me, I feel completely drained and I want nothing more than to go to bed and pretend this entire night was a bad dream.

  Gripping my chin in his hand, Daniel tips my head up so he can look into my eyes. "Genevieve, you can't just forget this happened. This guy," he points over to where the thief is lying unconscious on the ground, "shouldn't get to walk away from this. Not only was he trying to steal your car, he hurt you. There's no way in hell he's getting away with that!"

  I’m falling apart. I can’t control my words no matter how hard I try. Lashing out, I spew, "Why not? You did."

  Daniel's jaw tightens. "That's not fair. You hurt me too, Genevieve." He holds his hand out in front of him. "Give me your phone," he orders.

  “You seem a little preoccupied for someone who doesn’t care about me.”

  “Cut it out, Gen.” Daniel narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t make me come and get it.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I knew you wanted some. Come and get it.”

  “Gen.”

  “Dan.”

  “Call the fucking cops.”

  “I don’t feel like fucking.”

  “He’s going to wake up!” Daniel’s hands are flailing. He looks like a lost Muppet.

  “So, hit him again. Don’t let him talk. You’re good at that.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I tried to talk, you were the one who didn’t listen, so don’t give me that shit.”

  “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” I realize what I’ve said, but it’s too late. I should have just kicked him in the nuts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I hand him the phone.

  Daniel ignores my verbal land-mine and plays with the phone for a minute, pushing buttons and trying to turn it on, but nothing happens.

  "Um, it's probably not going to work." Daniel's questioning gaze meets mine and I look away, embarrassed about what I'm getting ready to say. "It was in my purse when I...uh..." Cringing, I say the rest so fast that the words all run together, "got it wet."

  "Genevieve," Daniel groans in exasperation.

  “Daniel,” I mimic.

  “How’d it get wet?”

  “You already know. I kind of put one of my drinks in there.”

  "Why would you pour a drink into your purse?" He's trying hard not to smile, and suddenly so am I.

  Shaking my head I tell him, "It was more like spewed, not poured, and there’s no way I’m answering that." This whole conversation is completely ridiculous.

  "Right," he mutters. "Come on, we'll call from inside the bar. At least there, we can wash the dirt off your hands and you'll be able to sit down while we wait for the police." He puts a hand on the small of my back, gesturing for me to walk in front of him so the tear in my dress isn't as noticeable.

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to call the cops.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I can’t walk the whole way again, not in these shoes. I can barely stand.” He smiles at me. “I’m not sexy. I can only do sneakers and yoga pants.”

  He sighs and threads his arm around me, letting me lean on him. We start to walk and he says, “Some guys think yoga pants are hot.”

  “Really?” I think he’s being nice, but on the way back to the bar he explains to me why men love yoga pants, from the tight fitting ass, to the unfashionably sexy camel toe. “So, they’re not like sweatpants?”

  He laughs. “No, not even close.”

  When we walk inside, Daniel leads me back to the bar, pulling out a stool for me before walking away. Nice. I made a fool out of myself trying to get him to talk to me, my car was almost stolen, I ripped a dress that cost me over two hundred bucks, we discussed camel toes, and then he sits me down and leaves.

  A few people glance at me. I avoid their stares and resist the urge to bury my face in my arms and go to sleep on the table. Suddenly my head feels like it’s made of lead. I’m going to sob and pass out. I'm so spaced that I don't notice Dan's back until he starts wiping my hands with a wet cloth, removing all the dirt.

  He kneels in front of me. “I called for you.”

  “Thank you.” Our eyes lock as he holds the cold cloth on my hand. I don’t want him to leave.

  “No problem.” He’s careful and dabs the cloth to my other hand. Before we say more, the police arrive and I give my statement, telling them about the fair haired guy who tried to steal my car, and how I kinda sorta picked a fight with him.

  “Excuse me? Can you explain that?” The cop is older, his shaggy eyebrow lifts slightly.

  I shrug. “I had a bad night and I didn’t want to—” I sigh, and look him in the eye. “It was stupid, but I didn’t want to let him take my car. So I beat him up a little bit, then he punched me. I fell on my butt and screamed. Daniel saved me. The guy was going to hurt me.”

  Daniel continues to watch me like he's waiting for me to have some sort of mental breakdown, but I'm too lost in my head for that. By the time the cops are done with their questions, it's later than I expected. I'm sure my mother thinks I’m in bed boinking some random guy.

  "Come on, Genevieve," Daniel says quietly, curling his hand around my elbow to help me up. "Let me take you home." I don't protest, instead letting him lead me out of the bar and over to his truck, the same truck I miss seeing parked outside of my house. He opens the door before helping me climb up and heading over to his side.

  “I’m sorry. For this, for everything.” I don’t look at him. I can’t. I wrap my arms around my middle and stare straight ahead.

  "None of this is your fault.”

  I shake my head back and forth. "Not just with this, with everything. I’m sorry. You have no idea." Putting a hand over my mouth, I attempt to keep the sudden sobs inside.

  Suddenly, tears are streaming down my cheeks and Daniel's arms are wrapped around me. He tucks me closer into him after sliding across the truck's bench seat and murmurs, "Shh, baby. Please don't cry."

  I allow myself the comfort of his arms for just a minute before pushing him away from me. “You can stop acting concerned about me now," I say softly. “I’ll be fine.”

  "Damn it, Genevieve!" His voice is loud in the small space and I jump when he smacks the steering wheel with both hands. “Why do you always believe the worst? You believed the worst about me. What happened to the woman who was so strong she didn't want anyone to help her because she could do it all?"

  His words slice me open. Every single insecurity I've ever had bubbles to the surface and once I start, I can't stop the words that are pouring out of my mouth. "Strong? I haven't been strong in so damn long. I'm coming loose at the seams and breaking apart. My life has been so lonely for the past two years. My parents and friends are great, but I relied so heavily on my husband that I don't know how to ask anyone else for help. When he was alive, I didn't
need to ask anyone for help because he always knew when I needed it. It's so hard to go from that to not knowing who you can count on. I didn’t even know how to ask."

  "You don't have to do everything on your own! Fuck, Gen, I've been at your house a couple times a week for those two years and you never once asked for help. I had to force you to take a break when CJ was sick, and even then you fought me on it." His hands clench into fists as he turns to stare out the windshield, his jaw tight. "And then, after everything, all the time we spent together, I find out you never trusted me. You thought I was going through your mail and looking at your bank accounts. Shit, Gen. That’s damning and there’s no pretty way to say it. You either trust me or you don’t, and you clearly did not."

  My mouth drops open. "I did trust you! I trusted you to help me, I let you in when I wouldn't let anyone else near me."

  "Bullshit." He turns to face me, his heated gaze pinning me in my seat. "If you trusted me at all, you would've defended me when your mother accused me of being after your money. Dammit, Genevieve, you know me better than that! After all the time I spent at your house, all the hours we spent talking, and you honestly believed I would use you that way?"

  By the end of his tirade, his voice is devoid of anger and just sounds sad. I realize then just how much I hurt him by not immediately defending him. "I don't need your money, Gen," he continues, his shoulders slumped slightly. "I have plenty of my own. My father may hate the idea that I'm not following him into his business, but my grandparents left trust funds for both Melody and me. I'm not hurting for money at all. In fact, I could decide tomorrow that I didn't want to work at all and I could still live comfortably for a long time."

  I stare at him, shocked speechless at his confession. When I finally find my voice, the only thing I can say is, "I'm so sorry, Daniel." Closing my eyes tightly, I confess, my own voice barely audible, "I know you wouldn't use me the way my mother suggested, but I was scared. I was so scared of the feelings I have for you, that I let her make me feel like what we were doing was wrong. You don't know how much I regret letting you think I believed her, because I didn’t. I just didn’t say it. Even though I couldn’t admit it to myself—I love you. It scares me. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did, and I can’t do it again. I can’t lose someone else, especially not you."